Falling Off the Wagon
by caramelo
Summary: As if being in Glee club wasn't bad enough, now everyone thinks they're brainwashed cult freaks.  Maybe they've gotten a little too weird for high school.  Glee/Supernatural crossover, sequel to Along for the Ride.  Slight Puckleberry.


**Falling Off the Wagon**

_Author's Note: _So, uh, this is the entirely unanticipated sequel to "Along for the Ride". Entirely unanticipated because I did not hint at nor expect to be writing a sequel, even after the (very) supportive and (incredibly) surprising comments the first installment got. Thanks for that, all of you who read that story and who happen to see this one as well. Hope you all enjoy it. Reviews welcome!

By the way, if you haven't read Along for the Ride, I highly suggest you check it out to understand the premise and the references better. But if you _really _don't feel like it, that's okay too! Here's a short summary to get you started:

_Along for the Ride -_ Rachel gets possessed, and Sam and Dean come to McKinley High to save the day. After meeting them and learning about what they do, Rachel decides that hunting is her "true calling." Puck comes along with her to make sure she doesn't get herself killed before Regionals. Insanity abounds. Rachel has to sing while she kills things, much to Dean's consternation. Puck says and thinks tactless things, pretty much all the time. Sam's just kinda there, not sure what to make of any of this shit. One day, Puck almost gets killed. Rachel realizes she loves him and that she can't stand the idea of him getting hurt again and after a (big! dramatic!) hospital scene, they get together. Afterwards, they part ways with Sam and Dean – who are kind of going to miss them, but not really – and return to McKinley.

Got it? Great! Without further ado...

* * *

><p><em>Pt. I<em>

Puck tries to exorcise Kurt.

It's the third time he's tried to exorcise someone this week. Before this, he's gone after Santana, Artie, Sue Sylvester and Principal Figgins. He also may have looked into beheading Tina, the vicious Asian vampire. And Mike too, you know, cause maybe _all _Asians are vampires. People are starting to avoid him in the hallways, despite his devastatingly good looks.

After he tied up Figgins and made Latin symbols around the principal's office in pig's blood, he was threatened with expulsion if he did it again. He knows they're looking into whether or not it's all a violation of his probation terms.

But Rachel saves him by stepping in and telling everyone the painful 'truth': that they were kidnapped by cultists.

And then everyone looks at him with pity in their eyes and nods sadly. Puck threatens that if they don't stop, he'll set a hellhound on them.

"Cultists," Rachel reminds them.

"Is that why he's dating you?" Quinn says snidely. "Because he's actually gone crazy? Figures."

Rachel tries to exorcise Quinn.

"Nobody can be that evil _naturally_!" she protests as Puck drags her away.

As if being in Glee club wasn't bad enough, now everyone thinks they're brainwashed cult freaks. Maybe they've gotten a little _too_ weird for high school, Puck thinks to himself.

So he dials a cell phone number reserved "strictly for emergencies."

And when a black Impala rolls up to the school, redneck rock blaring from the speakers, he finally feels like things are back to the way they should be.

_Pt. II_

"You told us there were zombies, man."

Puck doesn't falter under Dean's glare. (He's still a badass, thank you very much.) "Well, I might have exaggerated a little."

"You said they were eating the cheerleaders' _brains_!"

"Okay, I might have exaggerated a lot," he corrects. Pause. "Actually, zombies may have eaten Brittany's brains. We should look into that. It would explain a lot."

Dean curses. Sam runs a giant hand through his luxurious brown locks, looking stressed.

Puck feels this weird urge to hug both of them, and Rachel looks like she's secretly plotting to lock them all in her bedroom or wear their skin or something insanely creepy like that. It's just like old times.

"Well if there are no zombies here, there's this case in Tulsa we have to get back to…" Sam starts.

"No, wait!" Rachel bursts out, grabbing for them both.

Sam and Dean, with their seasoned hunter's reflexes, instinctively jump back. But Rachel is determined and her hands are everywhere, like an octopus. She has a fistful of shirt in each hand. The brothers glance down at her, then each other, clearly wondering if there are any legal implications.

"What…is…it?" Sam asks edgily, while Dean starts cutting off the pieces of shirt Rachel's holding onto with a knife.

"We don't fit in here anymore," she mopes.

Dean's knife stills in the middle of freeing Sam. "That's why you called us? _Because you_ _don't fit in_? It's high school! Nobody fits in!" He waves his arms around for emphasis, and then seems to remember he's holding a dangerous weapon on school grounds. He quickly hides his hands behind his back.

"This is more than that," Rachel says with big imploring eyes that have talked Puck into many an embarrassing duet. In fact, Santana is still blackmailing him with a grainy cell phone video of 'Summer Nights' from Grease. "People think we're crazy. Noah's getting paranoid. He sees demons everywhere."

"Do not," Puck protests.

"You exorcise about two people a week, Noah," she reminds him.

"You just tried to exorcise Quinn yesterday!"

"You throw salt-laced slushies at people!"

"You steal holy water from the synagogue and replace people's water bottles with it!"

"You nearly beheaded Tina and Mike!"

"Well, they're both _Asian_!"

"What?" Sam cuts in. "What does that even mean?"

"You know, Asians," Puck explains, faltering at their blank expressions. "…Vampires…"

"What have we done?" Dean groans.

"Maybe teaching them to hunt wasn't the best idea," Sam says, looking perturbed.

"You think, Obi Wan?"

Sam makes a rather spectacular bitchface at his brother, before turning back to them. "Okay," he says diplomatically. "How many people have witnessed your…antics?"

"Um," Rachel says. "Pretty much the whole school? Plus a few people from temple. And some members of a nursing home."

"A nursing home?" Sam repeats.

"Rachel was _suspicious_," Puck throws in with a triumphant glance at Rachel, who's scowling. "She noticed that a lot of people there were dying."

"_Jesuschrist_," Dean mutters under his breath. Sam doesn't say anything, but he looks like he pretty much agrees with that sentiment all the same.

"So are you gonna leave us here to be thrown in the loony bin or what?" Puck asks.

_Pt. III_

A hunter measures his life in days, not years.

After all, when your average lifespan is 36 years old, that sounds tragic. But if you convert it to 13,149 days, well, that doesn't sound so bad.

Days or years aside, Sam never imagined he'd live long enough to be raising teenagers.

Yeah, theoretically, Puck and Rachel are old enough to fend for themselves, but in reality, they're totally fucking helpless. Rachel lives in some kind of fantasy world where she's a famous star and everybody loves her (they do _not;_ she has a particular tendency of pissing off surly truck drivers, in fact) and one day Sam had to helpfully label Puck's shoes with L's and R's because apparently the kid has trouble with that kind of thing.

Dean isn't much help. He tosses burgers at them and tells them curfew is dawn. It's Sam who has to make sure that they're getting enough sleep and vegetables and, oh yeah, _not getting totally fucked up for the rest of their lives._

"Let 'em be, Sam," Dean says as he hands them back their fake IDs.

"No!" Sam insists, snatching the cards back and ignoring their outraged yells. "They're underage. Rachel's feet don't even touch the ground when she sits on a bar stool."

"Height discrimination!" Rachel cries.

Dean sizes her up thoughtfully. "I guess she is pretty short," he admits. "She might blow our cover."

"I'm not short," Puck buts in while Rachel pouts. "Can I have mine back?"

"No," Sam says. "Fair is fair. Also, I'm pretty sure your girlfriend is going to murder you for throwing her under the bus like that."

Puck side-eyes Rachel, who is indeed giving him an almighty death glare. He starts edging behind Dean and Sam.

Later that night, the brothers discuss the situation further over beers while the kids are left back in the motel room.

"Always knew you had a maternal side, Sammy," Dean says smugly.

"Come off it," Sam scowls. "Someone's got to look out for them."

"Hey, I look out for them," Dean protests. "Other day I slaughtered that poltergeist that was sneaking up on Mohawk, remember?"

"His name's _Puck_," Sam reminds him. "And I wasn't talking about that, Dean. They're just kids. They still have a chance at a normal life."

Dean snorts. Sam glares at him. "What, Sammy?" he says, holding out his hands. "Let's get real here. Mohawk was building a guillotine to behead a couple of Asian kids because he thought they were _vampires_. Does that sound normal to you?"

Sam sighs. He hates it when Dean has a point. He supposes it's lucky that Puck doesn't have a lick of common sense and decided a guillotine was the best way to go about killing (fake) vampires – despite the fact that he's actually killed _real _vampires with normal vampire-beheading weapons before. It's also lucky that Puck enlisted his buddy Finn to help him build the thing. From what Sam can remember from that time they exorcised Rachel, Finn is even more, ahem, _special _than Puck when it comes to mental capacity. If that's even possible.

But still, Dean's right. Not knowing how to correctly build a guillotine does not make a person normal. In fact, the very act of attempting it all probably automatically qualifies you as strange.

(Though it is fairly simple to put one together, if you just look at diagrams from 18th century French literature, Sam's scholarly brain points out.)

"We've gone and screwed them up already, haven't we?" he says, taking a swig out of his beer, resigned.

"Aw, come on, Sammy," Dean says. "It's not _that _bad. Besides, Mohawk was probably going to end up as a janitor or something anyway. Or in jail," he mutters as an aside.

"And Rachel?"

"The short one?" Dean says wryly. "She's a great hunter. Her personality alone drives monsters to suicide. Never seen anything like it before in my life."

"She could also have a great career on Broadway or something," Sam argues. "She could be really successful."

"She's the one who chose this," Dean shrugs. "From the very beginning, she was the one who insisted on doing it. We gave her a chance to get out – hell, we _begged_ her to back off. Fat lot of good that did."

Sam directs his puppy eyes at the table. Dean sighs. "Sam, we got stuck with them, not the other way around."

Sam cocks his head. "I guess you're right," he says slowly. "For once."

"I know I am," Dean says, triumphant.

"You know, Dean, you're taking this all really well considering Rachel rifles through your underwear drawer once a day."

"She _what_?"

_Pt. IV_

Rachel does a lot of creepy things.

One night, Sam woke up to her standing over him with scissors. She pretended to be sleepwalking, but now Sam isn't so sure. After all, sleepwalkers generally don't just announce they're sleepwalking and in a fragile state and probably shouldn't be woken up because she's heard that's dangerous.

Yeah, that's not normal sleepwalking behavior.

Stupidly, though, he let it go. Pushed it right out of his head to make room for ghost research. Sam curses himself in the mirror for such a rookie mistake.

Because the Sam reflection staring back at him has a lock of brown bangs missing in the front, and he's pretty sure he knows who's responsible for it. He's also pretty sure if he went looking for it, he'd find his hair tied with a ribbon or some shit in a girly decorative box. Maybe accompanied by a picture of him sleeping.

_Pt. V_

Puck, on the other hand, just does a lot of things that Sam can't even begin to explain.

On a Monday, for example, he shoplifts a six pack of beer from a deli. Nevermind that Sam and Dean are buying a case, and they really don't give a shit if Puck and Rachel have one from time to time. Nevermind that there's a police officer buying donuts at the counter. He just up and sticks the beer under his shirt and walks out with it.

And damned if he doesn't almost get all of them thrown in jail for six cans of Natty fucking Lights.

Another time, on a Tuesday, he hits on the mother of a deceased werewolf victim. She's pushing 50, at least, with hair bleached to bits and unfortunate acid wash jeans, and Rachel's standing right there, of course, but Puck doesn't care. He calls the woman a cougar to her face, then growls _– actually growls – _and tells her he's an 80s baby so he's really into her style.

Rachel screeches like a banshee when they get home, and Sam gets beamed in the head with a hairbrush intended for Puck.

But none of that even compares to that one Wednesday, when they look in the backseat of the Impala and find a mailbox. A whole mailbox, post and everything, clearly uprooted from the ground, no explanation for how or why it got there. While the rest of them stand there, frozen, Puck just clambers on in like everything's fine. When Sam suggests they may have to dump the mailbox to make room for Rachel – and because he's not sure, but it might be a federal crime to steal a person's mailbox – Puck actually looks offended.

Sometimes, Sam wonders why he and Dean can't just raise normal kids like normal people.

He also prays that Rachel and Puck were this demented before meeting them, so it's not all their fault.

_Pt. VI_

Putting a gun in Puck's hand makes Sam rethink the Second Amendment (which is, coincidentally, also the First Law of Winchester).

The first time Rachel and Puck traveled around with them, Sam and Dean mostly equipped them with the less lethal stuff, like brass knuckles and knives. Puck was also the designated salt-bag bitch.

The reasoning was, Rachel and Puck – while not that bad at the whole hunting thing – could sometimes be totally incompetent in day-to-day life and would probably end up accidentally shooting themselves. Or each other. Or Sam and Dean. And Sam and Dean agreed they really did not want to deal with the police reports that would come after that, so the decision was made: no guns.

For some reason, they're now rethinking that.

Maybe it's because this time the traveling together situation seems a bit more permanent. Maybe it's because more and more demons seem to be cropping up lately. Maybe it's because guns are faster killing mechanisms than knives, and faster means less time listening to Rachel singing because apparently she still does that.

"Cool, man!" Puck says, eyes lit up with glee. "I'm totally badass now. Like 50 Cent."

"Uh, no," Dean says with a furtive side-glance at Sam who _told _him this was a bad idea. "Isn't that the guy who got shot like nine times? You are _not _going to be like 50 Cent."

"All it takes is one gunshot wound to impress the chicks," Puck says, examining the barrel of the gun thoughtfully.

"I much prefer your unblemished skin, Noah," Rachel steps in quickly, before Sam has an aneurysm.

_Pt. VI_

They get a call in Omaha that changes everything. It's a kid from Puck and Rachel's Glee club, begging them to come back to Lima – and fast.

Apparently, the kid's mom is doing some pretty lethal stuff with chopsticks, and he's starting to understand why Puck was so hellbent on exorcising people.

It's pretty routine as far as cases go. A few candles, some pig's blood and five minutes of chanting (plus, of course, singing) later, and the mom is back to being a sweet little miss who offers them pork fried rice and dumplings.

Sam politely declines, while Dean eats thirteen.

When he's done, they all step outside to get properly acquainted, while the mother cleans up inside.

"This is Mike," Puck introduces. "He's Asian." As if they couldn't fucking see that.

Dean furrows his brows. "Is he the one you were planning to behead?"

Always so tactful, Sam thinks, rolling his eyes.

"What?" Mike yelps.

"No worries, man," Puck says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Total misunderstanding."

"I'm not following…"

Puck waves him off. "Like I said, past is past. I don't even have the guillotine anymore cause my mom took it away from me and uses it to cut vegetables, so."

Mike the fake Asian vampire doesn't look any more reassured.

"Mike's a very interesting person," Rachel says, jumping in in an effort to break the silence. "He dances and he also…dances? And he's Asian."

"What is with the Asian obsession with you people?" Dean scrunches his nose. "I mean, I guess I have a bit of a thing for Asians too, but I have way different, much better motivations behind it."

"Pervert," Sam mutters under his breath.

"Lima's not very integrated," Rachel explains. "Mike and Tina make up eight-fifths of our Asian population at school. It's notable. Plus, he doesn't talk, so what else are we supposed to know about him?"

"If you grew up with these people, you wouldn't want to talk to them either," Mike says with a scowl.

"I hear ya, brother," Dean says.

"Eight-fifths?" Sam says. "Is that even possible?"

_Pt. VII_

And that is the story of how Sam and Dean adopt another kid.

I mean, come _on_. Were they really supposed to leave him in that hellhole?

Mike is pretty useful actually. Dean appreciates him because he's quick on his feet. Rachel appreciates him because he dances to her songs. Sam appreciates him because he's the only other person around with any common sense.

And Sam still doesn't know what goes on in Puck's head, so it's hard to tell what he thinks about Mike joining them. He hasn't blown anything up recently, so that might be a good sign.

Mike brings a lot of flair to their hunts. Not annoying flair, like singing, but he does a lot of cool spin moves and stuff. They kind of look like high-class Matrix assassins with him around.

Whenever they run into other hunters on the road, he's the one that Sam and Dean introduce first, as if to say _look, at least we did things right with one of these kids_.

But there's someone who isn't at all impressed, to say the least.

"You idgits added another one?" Bobby yells, cursing colorfully. "This isn't the damn _Brady Bunch_!"

"Well, good, because we were going for Full House," Dean says. "I've been told I bear a passing resemblance to Uncle Jesse."

"Then who am I?" Sam asks.

"Bob Saget."

"Shut up, you two!" Bobby says. "Don't try to change the subject neither. Two kids was bad enough. It's almost like you're trying to get caught now."

"Kid's mom said it was okay," Dean says, waving him off. "We asked before we took him."

"How on earth did you convince her to agree with that?"

Dean coughs.

"Long story," Sam says. "But if she ever calls, you're the principal of the Collegiate Preparatory School of the Greater Ohio Area, okay?"

Bobby glares.

_Pt. VIII_

Sam wishes he could say they all ride off into the sunset together.

But that would be a lie.

Here's the truth: Rachel still does creepy things. Puck still does straight-up batshit things. Even Mike, their golden child, can be grating when he insists on Asian food for dinner every night.

Dean and Sam are not perfect guardians. One time, they accidentally forget Rachel in a gas station in Tucson when she gets out to use the bathroom. Another time, they make Mike dance on the street corner for cash. (Times are tough, okay, and Sam's still not proud of that one.) (Dean is.)

But even though they are all completely dysfunctional – and even more so together – they do a pretty decent job of keeping each other alive. Puck and Rachel, in particular, have this weird chemistry when they're fighting demons, similar to Sam and Dean's but different all at the same time. It's loud and more than a little chaotic, but nevertheless in harmony.

And Mike, of course, is just a total fucking badass.

"Tiny Dancer," Dean often says after a hunt, clapping him on the back, "You make me proud enough to almost let you drive the car. _Almost_."

Sam still isn't entirely sure if Dean has learned the kids' names yet. He does know that Dean rages whenever Sam points out his nickname for Mike reveals his secret affinity for Elton John music.

He feels fairly confident that this arrangement isn't forever. Their pack is just a little too big, the Impala a bit too crowded. The kids have families who are going to expect them home after graduating from the Ohio Preparatory School for College or whatever the hell Sam and Dean called it. And who are subsequently going to implode when they realize their sons and daughters have actually not yet passed the 11th grade.

Sam wonders if they can get Bobby to fudge some school records and diplomas. He should look into that.

In the meantime, this set-up's not so terrible, rambling down the road together. It certainly hasn't been boring. He thinks back to when Rachel first blackmailed Dean into letting her and Puck tag along, all those months ago. They've all come a long way from that first hunt, when Rachel had cowered in the corner and Puck had almost killed them all with a homemade cherry bomb. Which, of course, was entirely ineffective against ghosts.

He remembers, with some relish, how Rachel had begun to hum in that corner and how that gleam had entered her eye. And he'll never ever forget the horrified expression on Dean's face when she burst into song.

He considers, when they leave again, if he and Dean will be able to settle back into hunting by themselves as comfortably as the last time.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Rachel says, bouncing up next to him.

Sam looks down at her and shrugs. "The future, I guess. Where we're all going to be."

"I'm going to be a star on Broadway," she says, puffing up her chest. "And in my spare time I'll hunt monsters in New York. There's bound to be a ton of them there."

"That's not a bad idea."

She idly twists a spare thread around her finger. "Yeah, well, I figure it'd be pretty negligent of me to quit helping people, now that I know what's out there."

What an oddly perceptive sentiment for a sixteen year-old, Sam thinks, impressed.

"I don't know how much good I'd be by myself, but I can at least try," she continues.

"You know, Rachel, you're actually a pretty great hunter," he reassures her. "A pretty great person too." He pauses, shaking his head, feeling a touch sentimental. "You may do some pretty weird things from time to time, but…I admire you."

Silence.

More silence.

Sam sneaks a glance at her, apprehensive. A quiet Rachel is never a good sign. Sure enough, this weird gleam has entered her eye that he does not like _at all._

In which ways could what he just said be misconstrued? he thinks, quickly running his words back across his mind. _Oh shi - _

"Oh, dear," she says delicately. "I was afraid that eventually it would come down to this. A battle for my affections. Do Dean and Mike also feel the same way about me, as you do?"

"What? No!" he says, recoiling.

"I'm very sorry to hurt you like this, Samuel, but my heart lies with Puck," she says, leering suggestively at him all the same.

"No, Rachel," he says hurriedly. "I don't even, uh – hands where I can see them! – I think you and Puck are great together. _Really_."

"How selfless of you, Sam."

Sam resists the urge to face palm. "Yeah, that's me," he says stiffly. "Selfless."

She grabs his hand. "You'll find another girl someday, I promise. She may even take your mind off me occasionally."

"Yeah, um. Thanks, Rachel." He gently tries to pry her fingers away.

She nods sagely, then skips off. Presumably to tell everyone that Sam's in love with her and ruin his life.

When are these kids going to college again? he wonders.


End file.
